


A Start

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: Herald of Change [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Haven (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 10:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Recruitment for the potential Inquisition is well underway - a start, albeit a small one. Commander Cullen Rutherford wonders if his new soldiers will be ready in time for the impending Conclave... and whatever it might bring.
Series: Herald of Change [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636348
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	A Start

_Haven, Ferelden; Nubulis (Drakonis), 9:41 Dragon_

“Start again!”

_“Ser!”_

Cullen crossed his arms as he examined the nearly two-dozen recruits under his command. When the Divine’s official call for the Conclave had finally been delivered at the beginning of the month, he had received more responses from Haven’s residents and villagers from nearby settlements than he had expected. His small handful of trainees had swelled from a mere handful to a decently-sized guard unit. As their numbers grew, he slowly shifted the duties of the mercenary companies from guarding both the village and the Temple of Sacred Ashes to concentrating solely on the security of the temple; these new recruits would handle Haven itself. Josephine, true to her word, had managed to convince a few nearby nobles from both Orlais and Ferelden to send small retinues to support their cause, but they would not arrive for another week or more. Until then, Cullen would have to focus his attention on getting these raw recruits up to par, and quickly.

“One!” Rylen bellowed, calling the cadence for the routine he had set up for them to practice that afternoon.

 _“One!”_ the regiment answered in unison, settling into their guard positions.

“Two!”

_“Two!”_

“Three!”

A frown pulled at Cullen’s countenance as he observed the recruits’ positions, and he moved to the young man at the front of the column nearest him as Rylen continued his intonations on the other side of the group.

“No, no, look here.” He stopped the youth and carefully took his blade hand in his own, manually adjusting the recruit’s hold on the sword he was squeezing to death. “You’re choking up on the crossguard too much. Back your hand up to allow for movement, and don’t grip it quite so hard.”

“S-ser.” The young man nodded nervously in understanding.

He clapped his hand reassuringly on the youth’s shoulder as he moved away again. “Just keep practicing. You’ll get there.”

“Y-yes, ser.”

The recruit couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. Cullen himself had been well into his Templar training at that age. Those who comprised this small unit of recruits, however, had not, and transforming them from farmers and hunters into well-trained soldiers in a matter of months would be difficult to say the least. The most imposing weapons most had wielded were knives and the occasional bow; the youngest among them had never been exposed to arms of war in their lives. Still, they did have enthusiasm on their side, as they were spurred by a desire to see peace in their homeland. They had witnessed the end of the Fifth Blight only ten years previous but were already faced with another world-consuming calamity, and they wanted to put a stop to it quickly, before more lives were lost – before their loved ones became the next victims of Templar and mage insanity.

But first, they had to know how to handle a proper blade, and that would take time… time Cullen feared they did not have.

The Conclave would be held in the fall, and the Templar and mage delegations would trickle in over the course of the summer. Most of the recruits would need to be ready by the end of the month, at the latest, when the first of the attendees would arrive in Haven. They would be bolstered by the guards from the local nobles, but they would need to continually take in new recruits to accommodate the growing number of Conclave delegates and observers. Thus, he would be constantly rotating and training troops in greater and greater numbers for the majority of the year in order to ensure the safety of everyone present.

He was determined to succeed, for all their sakes. Failure was not an option.

There was a part of him that still wondered why Seeker Cassandra had chosen him of all people for the job. She had said it was because of his loyalty and dedication to doing what was right. Yet he had been wrong about what was right before. There was a time in his life when he thought it right to treat mages as less-than-human because of his personal experiences at Kinloch Hold. There was a time when he thought that the Templars were right about everything. He had been wrong, and his eyes had been opened far too late.

How could the Seeker honestly entrust this task to someone with such a history of narrow-mindedness and poor judgment? There was no way that she did not know about his past and about his views. It was true that he had striven to redeem himself in the aftermath of Meredith’s defeat, but he was not sure he had done so quite yet. Did she believe that he had? Or did she believe that this work for the Divine would further the process?

These self-critical thoughts plagued him even as he headed to the tavern that evening, in need of a drink after a long days’ work. He had yet to visit the Singing Maiden, the settlement’s recently refurbished establishment, having had no reason and little time to do so before now. After an especially intensive day of training, however, he felt he could use a drink to help ease his nerves and tensed muscles.

“Oh, hello!” The tavern owner, a heavyset red-haired young woman with large eyes, turned and hurried over to the bar when she heard him approach. “Something I can get you? I’ve got some stew on the fire and there’s a fresh cask of ale. Just ale, though!” She laughed nervously. “Won’t be anything else until some more shipments arrive, or at least that’s what Lady Josephine said. That _is_ her name, isn’t it?” Her appended question was more to herself than to him, as she glanced away with her brow furrowed before returning her attention to him.

He was about to answer her when, suddenly, she stuck her hand out for him to shake. “I’m Flissa.”

He took it. “Cullen.”

At that, her eyes went wide and her mouth formed an _O_ in shock. “Oh, you’re the commander! Maker, I’m so _stupid_.” She smacked her hand to her forehead. “Sorry! I’m new here. I-In case you haven’t noticed. Just got here last week. Leliana said your soldiers needed a good place to wind down and someone to keep it running. Always wanted my own tavern, so I decided to sign up. Glad to help however I can.”

“Just an ale, please,” Cullen finally answered her initial question, largely ignoring her jittery babble and attributing it to eagerness.

“Oh, yes, right, sorry!” Flissa laughed nervously again and bent to fetch a clean tankard from under the counter, “Not used to being around so many important people. I get a little chatty sometimes…” she trailed as she filled the flagon from the cask behind her.

“You mentioned the soldiers spending time here,” Cullen remarked, nodding his thanks when she set the frothing tankard in front of him.

“Yes, what of it?” she asked, eyes widening again.

“Just let me know if they get too disruptive,” he replied. “‘Winding down’ is one thing. Causing a ruckus is another.”

“Oh, of course.” She nodded emphatically and smiled. “Thanks. I-I’ll send word if I get any trouble.”

At that moment, the tavern door opened with a loud creak, and a few soldiers, as well as Knight-Captain Rylen, ducked inside, a draft of cool air following. The Templar glanced around and grinned as he caught Cullen’s gaze. “Well, fancy seeing you here, Commander!” Meandering over to where Cullen sat at the bar, Rylen gestured to Flissa. “Some of that stew and an ale, if you will.” Turning back to the commander, then, he added, “Getting a table. Join me?”

“Certainly.”

Cullen rose, leaving the coin for his drink on the counter and waiting for Flissa to fill the Knight-Captain’s order before following Rylen to a table in the corner, tankard in hand. Then, as the latter sat down with his meal, he suddenly asked, “Copper for your thoughts, Commander?”

Cullen’s brow furrowed as he took a seat opposite his second-in-command. “Sorry?”

Rylen chuckled. “You’ve been looking like someone stole your sweets all day now. Something bothering you?”

The commander unclasped his vambraces and set them aside on the table with a long sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been wondering how I got here, is all.” He hoped that Rylen would not inquire more than that, but he knew how perceptive the Starkhavener was.

To his relief, Rylen merely took a bite of stew and snorted. “You and me both. It’s a bit surreal at times.”

Cullen slowly nodded in agreement as his comrade ate. Several moments of silence followed before the Templar added, “You think this thing will actually work? The Conclave? That everyone’ll just come together and hash everything out in front of the Divine, and everything will go back to normal?”

Glancing to where Flissa was busy tending to another patron, then looking down into his tankard, Cullen slowly shook his head. “No. Peace will not come easily, of that I am certain. This is just the beginning of a long and difficult conflict ahead. The Conclave is a formality. The real work will come after.”

Rylen huffed. “What I figured. Never can be easy, can it?”

Cullen felt the corner of his mouth tug into a smirk. “Never.”


End file.
